


Beloved Sin

by Sailorhathor



Series: Brokeback Mothman [16]
Category: Miracles (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Het and Slash, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/pseuds/Sailorhathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Relic must die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved Sin

A **Miracles/Supernatural** X-over  
by Laurel (Sailorhathor)

 **Pairings** Dean/Paul, Ruby/Mr. Friendly  
**Rating:** Rated Adult  
**Word Count:** 17,075  
**Universe:** Brokeback Mothman  
**Summary:** The Relic must die.  
**Warnings:** Violence, some sexual content (het and slash), language  
**Beta Thanks:** Beta'ed by Sammie. Tank you!  
**Author's Notes:** Sammie also suggested the label "The Mast" and found the description of a mast that was used in the story.  
How Ruby became involved in all this will be revealed in another story, whenever I get to writing that one.  
I think that this is the first time I've ever had such a short summary. :D It's just too perfect.  
Although this universe will explore some of the canon concepts from later seasons of SPN, it's still technically AU. I don't intend for Sam's problem from season 4 to come between Dean and Sam; it will be explored, though, as you can probably guess from the things Ruby says in this story.  
This story was written for **Spnslashbigbang**.

  
        She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

        Mrs. Murtaugh knew there was something wrong with her son, something very off, shortly after he came home from the hospital. Everyone told her it was because of the shootings and resulting catatonia, that Kellen just needed time, that eventually, he would be the old Kellen again. But a mother knew when there was something so off about her own child that he didn't even seem to be the same person anymore. Mrs. Murtaugh knew it everytime she stood outside his bedroom door with a load of clean laundry or a plate of food and got that disturbing chill up her spine, that horrible crawly feeling of being watched by something dark and evil. Like the house had been inhabited by a presence ever since Kellen had come home.

        Like he brought something back with him.

        This wasn't something Mrs. Murtaugh felt she could share with anyone, not even her husband. Anytime she brought up the changes in her son to anyone, they would blame it on the awful tragedy he had endured. A traumatic event like that was bound to change a person.

        But she was his mother, and she knew it was worse than all that. If only she had some way to verbalize what she was feeling... knew the right person to talk to...

        Maybe things would get better. Kellen was almost done with his senior year of high school and had applied to three local colleges, all good educational institutions. He had eventually made up all the school he missed while in the hospital - it looked like he was back on track. If it wasn't for the spooky atmosphere surrounding the house, the occult books lining Kellen's shelves, and the sarcastic way he now spoke to his parents, Mrs. Murtaugh would be able to feel hope regarding his future like everyone else.

        There had been some strange friends in the last few years, roughnecks that Mrs. Murtaugh just couldn't like no matter how hard she tried, so it was almost a blessing when he started hanging out with the pretty blonde. Robin Finch. Sure, she wore a bit too much makeup - the girl looked more like 25 than 18 - but Kellen's grades had improved once she came into his life a year ago. If they were romantically involved, no one had seen any evidence of it. Still, she seemed to be good for him.

        When Robin showed up at the house one morning with a folder full of notes on various local colleges, wanting to go over them with Kellen, Mrs. Murtaugh had shown her right to the boy's room. She even planned to leave them alone in there, her trust was so great. Perhaps it had more to do with relief than trust, though, as she wanted her son to get back to a normal life, and a normal life for a boy his age involved young, pretty girls.

        Escorting Robin up to Kellen's room, she knocked on the door. "Kellen? Look who's here."

        When the door opened, the demon inside the boy put on a smile. Kellen's little friend was quite comely, and Mr. Friendly would love to have screwed her brains out by now, but she was always rebuffing his advances. Soon, he would tire of her. "Oh, hi Robin. Come on in."

        A minute later and they were alone in his room. Robin opened her little folder with a smirk on her face. She didn't plan to waste anymore time. "Kellen, I haven't been totally honest with you... for quite a while, really."

        "Oh?"

        "No. You see, this folder doesn't have any college brochures or campus maps in it." Robin moved from the chair by the door and sat on the corner of Kellen's desk. "It's full of photographs."

        There had been a complete shift in the girl's tone and stance; it was almost like she had something on him. Even so, Mr. Friendly remained jovial. "Really? What kind of photos? Did you and your friends finally have that pillow fight in your underwear?"

        In the past, she would have giggled and smacked him somewhere for a joke like that, but now, Robin only smirked again. "That's cute. No, see, I have a business associate who's been very busy, running around taking all sorts of pictures, and I asked her to get one of you. Call it a hunch, but I knew there was something different about you." Robin took a photograph out of her folder and laid it on the desk.

        When she mentioned the photo was of him, Mr. Friendly had frowned. Something was up. The photo showed Kellen with a strange aura of orange light around his body, but Friendly had expected that. What he didn't expect was for Robin to be acting like this about it. He sat back in the big desk chair, squinting at her. "You caught me."

        She grinned.

        Friendly continued to look her over. "You're having a rather calm reaction to this picture. Most girls would say, 'Hey Kellen, isn't that freaky, there's orange light radiating from your body.' But it seems almost routine to you." He leaned forward. "Who's in there with you, Robin?"

        "You first."

        "Oh, no." Friendly bowed to her from his seated position, holding out a hand to the girl in a flourish. "Ladies first."

        She shrugged. "Alright." Robin blinked, and her eyes were inky black from corner to corner. The girl blinked again a few seconds later, and they were back to normal. "My name is Ruby. Now you."

        "Well, I don't have that neat eye change thing, but you've seen my aura in your little picture, so I don't suppose you need further proof. They call me Mr. Friendly." He snorted, amused. "Isn't this an ironic little twist?"

        "Yes, it's quite the coincidence. Although, not entirely." Ruby leaned toward him, arm draped across her knee. "I befriended Kellen because of the tragedy he witnessed in his past. Where there is murder and mayhem, there is black energy. Where there is grief, there is pain. Among all of these things is power. I thought perhaps the boy could serve as an antenna for that power, but I see someone beat me to him." She had to laugh. "Maybe it's better this way. Would you consider working with us?"

        "Hm... I don't know." Friendly picked up one of the toys from Kellen's desk, a slingshot that propelled brightly colored Koosh balls across the room, and began to snap it just to hear the rubber part make that delightful _twang_ sound. "Maybe. What else you got in that folder, Ruby?" He smiled at her. "What is this all about?"

        Ruby took a stack of photos from the folder and sifted through them, putting them in a specific order. "This... this is about the Apocalypse, Mr. Friendly. Something we hear you've been trying to bring about."

        Still grinning, he put his feet up on the desk, leaning far back in the chair, nonchalant and cocky. "My reputation precedes me. Yes, that has been one of my pet projects. I've been trying to figure out the best way to do it, but really, any ol' way will do, don't you think? As long as humanity is wiped from the Earth."

        "Oh, but you must acknowledge that some methods are better than others." Hopping down to the floor, Ruby circled the desk as she spoke, running her hand over the back of the desk chair as she passed. "Some methods are more interesting... more fun... some cause more pain than others... some do more damage." She formed a steeple with her fingers, just thinking for a moment. "My ultimate goal is to use the Apocalypse to free Lucifer from Hell."

        "Ah, the old classics!" Friendly leaned so far back he was now looking at the ceiling, and swiveled himself a few inches back and forth in the chair. "That would be something to see."

        "Wouldn't it?" Ruby returned to her folder. "As I mentioned, I have associates who are helping me with this goal. We performed a spell to have some of our questions answered. This is what was revealed to us." She began to lay the other photos out on the desk. "These are the major players in the Apocalypse. Several of them will be working against us, others are our allies, and others still could go either way. It is our job to see that our enemies are destroyed and our numbers are increased, and that we turn as many fence-sitters as possible."

        Friendly nodded, sitting forward in his chair so he could see the photographs better.

        Ruby put a photocopy on top of the pictures, a copy of an elaborate drawing out of a book; it was of an object that Friendly instantly recognized. "Our enemies have this in their possession. The most important weapon of their ideology. If they are able to use it, it would stop the Apocalypse cold."

        His eyes grew big, almost frightened, at the sight of what was in that drawing. "Now that... it is something that man was not meant to disturb." At first, he smirked at his little joke, but then began to cringe in on himself, cowering back in the chair. "Put it away. Put it away! I can't even look at it!" Friendly covered his eyes with his shaking arm and whimpered, batting at the open air with his other hand.

        Ruby turned the drawing over with a shudder. "I know. I don't like looking at it either. But, there are things you need to know about it." She took a photograph from the pile, putting the drawing on the bottom. "This weapon has been hidden away somewhere, and only one person can control it. He is known as The Relic."

        Lowering his arm, Friendly looked at the photo of this man. "Ohhhh..."

        "You know who that is, don't you?"

        "Yes," he replied, nodding his head. "I should have known."

        "Yes... well, we all knew he was important. Everyone has been talking about him for so long... maybe we all should have known." Ruby sighed. "But it's alright. He's just as fragile as any other human being. If we kill him, then there will be no one left to control the holy weapon except a being of much greater power... such as Lucifer."

        Slapping his knee in triumph, Friendly cackled with glee. "Oh, wouldn't that be rich! Their own weapon used against them! Do you really think it could work?"

        "Well, he _is_ a fallen angel."

        "You've got a point there." Friendly, looking over the other pictures, asked, "Who is that?"

        "Some of these people, you've never encountered before." She pointed people out as she said their names. "You know Paul Callan, Alva Keel, and Evelyn Santos, but these two men are just as important." An amused grin came to her face. "That is Dean and Sam Winchester. They've hooked up with the members of SQ, which isn't a good sign for us. But it's not too late."

        "What about these other people?"

        "They all have a part to play. As I said, this person is The Relic." Ruby touched one of the pictures. "And this is The Sacrifice, someone who gives of themself for the happiness of others." She touched a photo with each title she explained. "The Illuminati, an extremely intelligent scholar and leader. The Compass, one who will give them spiritual guidance and information. The Mast..." Ruby smiled especially big at that one. "...this person can be turned. The mast of a ship swings from side to side in the wind, tossed by the rough seas, and is often in danger of falling. It is an essential part of a vessel. This one, I will work on personally."

        "What about this group?" Friendly pointed out the bottom two rows of pictures.

        "They are the key components to how the Apocalypse will work, if everything goes according to plan." Ruby pointed to two photos at once. "This is The Catalyst, and this is The Offering. The Catalyst can be manipulated into helping to start the Apocalypse, the one who will bring ruin to the world. The Offering would be the blood sacrifice that opens the gates. This other person here serves as The Circuit, the one who conducts the power that comes through once those gates are swung open.

        "We have many helpers in this, but this one will be crucial. He is The Disciple. He's a very good pupil. One day, he will break one of the others."

        Friendly looked up from the photo. "He looks like Paul Callan."

        "Yes. Someone who should've been part of his support group, but things didn't quite work out that way." She snickered, satisfied with their chances of winning.

        "Why is there a picture of you in here?"

        Ruby picked up the photograph and smiled at it. "Because I... am The Alchemist. Alchemy wasn't all about changing lead into gold. It was also about trying to achieve higher spiritual states, to escalate the soul into something greater. That's what I'm doing right now, and what I will try to do in my manipulation of the others."

        "How?" he asked.

        Ruby mimed that she was cutting her wrist, then put it up to her mouth and made a sucking sound.

        Friendly grinned, eyes wide. "Oh! Wow, I wish I'd thought of that." He brought his feet down and leaned forward. "What does it do to humans when they drink your blood?"

        "All _sorts_ of interesting things. Gives them powers, fucks with their chemistry... gets them high."

        Laughing, Friendly said, "Take me along next time you feed someone. I want to see a thing like that."

        She leaned toward him. "So you do want to join up with us?"

        Friendly shrugged, leaning back again. "I dunno. Maybe."

        "You know..." Ruby held up the photo of Friendly in Kellen's body. "...there is a spot left." She put this photo with the others.

        Friendly's eyes gleamed. "You mean, there's another person who plays a large part in the Apocalypse?"

        "Uh huh. The Contender." Ruby regarded his photo thoughtfully. "He is a person with great potential, who has the desire and the drive to go far. Someone who goes from a nobody to a somebody by working hard to achieve a goal." She put down the picture, now looking at him. "I'm sure that's something you want, isn't it, Friendly? To go from being a smalltime demon to someone who helped break the seals that freed the King of Hell?"

        Friendly nearly salivated at the thought. "There's nothing I want more."

        "Then...?" Ruby held out her hand. "Will you be our Contender?"

        Grabbing her hand, Friendly pulled her onto his lap. "I will. Maybe we should seal this deal with a kiss?"

        Rolling her eyes, Ruby replied, "You've been trying to get me in the sack for months."

        "Is it finally working?"

        She shrugged. "What the hell," Ruby said, and planted a deep kiss on his mouth.

* * *

  
        The heavenly smell of breakfast food preceded Dean as he entered the SQ office with large sacks of croissants, english muffins, and bagels in his hands. "I don't smell coffee brewing!" he called. Sam and Paul, who were right behind him, grinned at each other. "Woman! I bring you breakfast and you can't even have some coffee ready for me?"

        The area near the door was overwhelmed with stacks of heavy file boxes; the last stack in the row began to lean right as Dean came near it. They heard Evie let out a frustrated cry and dive for the top box, but it was to no avail. The entire stack came down, barely missing Dean, Evie falling and riding the spilling files like a wave to the floor.

        "Damn!" she cried, and pounded the cement floor with a fist.

        "Are you okay?" Paul asked.

        Joking, Dean said, "I'm fine," and stepped over the files.

        Sam and Paul helped her up. "Real classy Dean, just passing by," Sam remarked.

        "Uh, first of all, my hands are full," retorted Dean, holding up the sacks of food. "Second, you don't help a person up when they just tried to kill you with an avalanche of file boxes."

        "Dean, if it was my goal to kill you, you'd know it, trust me," Evie said. She dusted her hands off on her jeans.

        "Mmm! Sassy! Are you trying to turn me on?"

        Making a face, Evie replied, "I take it back. I _was_ trying to kill you."

        "And after I brought your favorite kind of bagels..."

        Evie went over to the table and opened one of the bags. "Are those garlic?"

        Dean just grinned and nodded.

        "How do you even know what my favorite kind of bagels are?"

        He waved his hand back and forth in front of his nose. "By your breath."

        Pulled in by the scent of breakfast, Alva emerged from his office. "Ah, do I smell croissants?"

        "Alva, did you see what just happened over there?" Evie pointed to the stacks of boxes. "I was almost killed by those things."

        Alva leaned over to see past everyone to the mess on the floor. "Oh. I'm sorry. Was anyone hurt?"

        They all shook their heads.

        "Things around here are getting completely out of control. I can't investigate cases and stay on top of the backlog of files at the same time."

        "Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Alva asked.

        Opening up her arms in a full body shrug, Evie said, "Would it kill you to hire a part-time girl to help out around here?"

        The others began to lay out the cartons of food on the conference table as they listened to Alva and Evie argue.

        "Do you think we can afford that?"

        "How can we afford not to?"

        Alva went to start a pot of coffee. "I don't know, Evelyn..."

        "Oh come on, Keel, how much could it cost?" Paul chimed in. "We need somebody around here to answer phones, shred old documents, organize your piles of bizarre research articles..." He indicated what Alva was doing. "...make coffee."

        "And help me get these file boxes in order so we know which ones to store and which ones to keep close at hand," Evie added. "Wouldn't it be nice not to take three hours to find one article that could instead be right at your fingertips?"

        Alva seemed to think it over. "How much do you think we should pay her?"

        Evie pumped a fist in triumph and gave a happy little jump. "Yes!"

        His mouth half stuffed with an English muffin, Dean added, "And make sure she's hot."

        Half an hour later, Alva, Evie, and Paul had their heads together trying to decide what they should put in the ad for their new receptionist. As Dean and Sam were alone at the table, finishing off the croissants, Dean felt like it was safe to ask him a few questions about something he wanted to do, something that could get him into trouble. "Hey Sam, you think the county records office in Boston has an alarm system?"

        Sam furrowed his brow at him. "I don't know."

        "Do you remember one of them ever having an alarm before? We broke into some of those in other cities."

        Shrugging, Sam replied, "There were a couple that had silent alarms. But we knew that beforehand, and were able to work around them, remember?"

        "Do you think they might have a nightwatchman?"

        Putting down his croissant, he looked at Dean for a moment before saying, "Dean, are you asking me to break into the county records office with you?"

        Dean shook his head. "No. It's a small errand; I was just going to go by myself, in case I get caught."

        "What are you looking for there?"

        "Uh..." Sheepish, Dean absently scratched the back of his neck. "...I was going to break into the confidential files and find out who Paul's father is."

        Sam blinked at him several times, taken aback. That wasn't an answer he'd even considered. "Really?"

        "Yeah. He doesn't know, and it means a lot to him." Turning to Sam, he said, "Sammy, if you just could've seen his face when he told me about it... how he wants to meet his dad but the bastard doesn't want to meet him... Paul requested to be able to view the file and the coward sealed it. Paul will never know who his father is unless I do this. And, I want to... I want to do this for him. Because he's our friend."

        At that moment, looking at the boyish vulnerability on his brother's face, Sam wanted to give him a big hug. It was an extremely selfless gesture, one born out of his feelings for Paul. "I think that would be a really nice thing for you to do for him, Dean. But do you think that's a chance he wants you to take?"

        "No, Paul would probably tell me not to risk it. But I'm doing it anyway."

        "Well, if you're determined to do it... I could get on the computer today and see what I can find out."

        Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Thanks, Sammy."

* * *

  
        Rolling over in bed, Mr. Friendly rested his cheek on his hand, considering what sort of trouble he and the other demon could scare up. "Now... who should we kill first?"

        Ruby got out of bed and began to get dressed. Wham, bam, thank you demon, that was her usual way. "The Relic. If we can kill The Relic, it will be the end for all of them."

        "I thought you said Lucifer wanted to use the weapon to end the world?"

        "He does. But, we discovered something very interesting about The Relic while doing our spell. The weapon is permanently linked with the soul of its user. Each time The Relic has died and been reincarnated, the weapon has gone with him. He is just as fragile as any other human being. If we kill The Relic, he will be reincarnated as a baby. Helpless. Pliable. He will not be able to wield the weapon, and we can have our Apocalypse now." She snapped her bra together in the back. "It takes an adult to use it. A soul that has been at least partially formed, not a baby."

        Nodding, Friendly said, "And if Lucifer is somehow unable to control this weapon, then he can work on The Relic from birth. Turn him to our side before he even becomes an adult."

        "You're right, but I wouldn't worry about that. Lucifer will be able to control it." Ruby grinned, wide and wicked. "Lucifer can do anything."

        "While I know that's true, I have to wonder... how would we get access to the weapon if The Relic is dead?"

        She stepped into her jeans, one leg at a time. "Through his soul. Wherever his soul goes, so goes the weapon."

        "Ah! And it isn't that hard to steal someone's soul."

        "No. There are several ways." Ruby looked down at him, still lying in bed. "Get dressed. We've got to meet someone. If we're going to kill The Relic, we'll need help."

        Friendly sat up. "Who?"

        "When I did the first spell, I used up a lot of juice, and it'll take a day or two for me to recuperate. Killing The Relic... that will take much more." Ruby handed him his pants. "My business associate knows a woman very skilled in the use of Black Magick. She will help us."

        "Ahh."

        "We can't have her come over here, though - Kellen's mother wouldn't like it. She's a little older than us."

        Fifteen minutes later, the two said goodbye to Mrs. Murtaugh and headed off to meet a "career counselor." Mrs. Murtaugh smiled and waved as they drove away in Kellen's car. Yes, it looked like everything was going to be okay with her son.

        They arranged to meet this woman for lunch at an expensive restaurant. When the two demons approached her table, they were still going on about the topic they'd begun in the car. "Werewolves," Friendly said. "We'll get a bunch of werewolves to rip him up."

        "No... they're a bit hard to control. Oh! I've got it!" Ruby's eyes practically sparkled as she announced, "Hell hounds."

        Friendly reacted as if he was just as young as Kellen, hopping up and down excitedly. "Oh, stellar, yes! Yes!" He held up his hand for a high-five. Ruby gave it to him. "Hell hounds, that's perfect! Rip 'im up!"

        The woman sitting at the table before them visibly tensed at the mention of hell hounds. "Exactly who do you think is going to help you call up these creatures?" she asked.

        Friendly looked at her, recognizing a British accent in her voice. "Isn't it you?"

        "No. I don't fuck with hell hounds."

        Friendly now looked at Ruby. "She doesn't fuck with hell hounds."

        Rolling her eyes, Ruby pulled out her chair and took a seat. "What do you mean?" She indicated that Friendly should sit down too.

        "Exactly what I said. Hell hounds are what Lilith calls up when she claims a soul," the woman explained.

        It took Ruby a moment to get it. "Oh. Ohhhh. I see." She gave this some thought before continuing. "But hell hounds are perfect. They're so loyal. And there are lots of different breeds. Lilith only uses the most basic kind."

        The British woman thought it over. "Shrikers," she finally said. "I'll help you call up shrikers. They're a type of spectral dog from back home."

        Ruby sighed. "But they're not invisible."

        The woman would not be swayed. "It's shrikers or nothing."

        "Okay... shrikers it is," Ruby replied with a shrug.

        Looking from one person to the other, Friendly asked, "Ruby? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

        "Oh, sorry." She indicated Friendly as she said, "This is Mr. Friendly. Friendly, this is our associate..." Ruby grinned, gesturing toward the woman. "...Bela Talbot."

        Bela held out her hand. "Charmed."

* * *

  
        Night came to the city. Dean waited for the others to become too wrapped up in ordering dinner to notice what he and his brother were doing. "What'd you find out for me, Sammy?"

        Sam checked to make sure that none of the members of SQ were close enough to hear him. He spoke in a quiet voice. "The records building is in the middle of renovation. Most of the windows are sealed closed, but three on the west side of the building have not been replaced yet. They can be jimmied open."

        "What about a silent alarm?"

        With a grin, Sam replied, "It doesn't look like the building has any type of security system."

        "You're sure of that?"

        "Yes."

        "Not even a security guard?"

        Sam shook his head. "No security guard. The offices are locked up at night, and that's always been enough, apparently."

        "Yeah, until we blew into town." Rubbing his hands together, Dean chuckled to himself. "I'll wait until Paul falls asleep tonight, and then I'll go."

        "You sure you don't want me to go with you?" asked Sam.

        "I'm sure. Don't worry about it; it'll be a quick in and out."

* * *

  
        Friendly wasn't looking forward to hearing it from Kellen Murtaugh's mother when he got home. It was nearly midnight, and they were still in the middle of this spell. He wouldn't get back until way after the kid's curfew. Oh well, it was worth it. Soon, The Relic's blood would be spilled all over the ground and there would be nothing standing between them and bringing about the Apocalypse.

        Bela shuddered a little when they first heard the sound of dog paws padding toward them. Five large black dogs came out of the forest into the clearing, five dogs big as wolves, with the appearance of vicious rottweilers, their panting mouths foaming with a maroon spittle. Everything in the atmosphere around them said they were something to be feared. They growled, eyes glowing green.

        "Is that blood coming from their mouths?" Friendly asked casually. He knew he had nothing to fear from the dogs.

        Ruby whispered back, "No. Shrikers have a special poison in their saliva that can kill anyone they bite. It just happens to be dark red."

        "Oh, sure. I should have known that."

        Shushing them, Bela crouched to spread the ashes of the burnt offering over the ground. She used her finger to write "The Relic" in the ashes, then looked up at the supernatural dogs. "This is your target," she instructed. "Find him and rip him apart. Bring me his heart as proof that you have done your job. You've got until sunrise."

        The lead shriker made a sudden cry that sounded like a mixture of a bark and a man shrieking in terror. It was a horrible, chilling sound. The other dogs answered with their own shrieks and the pack took off running.

        Bela stood up straight, watching the dogs go. "If this works, do you think it might please Lilith?" She turned to Ruby. "She will hear about all the help I've given you, won't she?"

        Ruby pretended she cared about the British woman's nattering. "Oh, of course, of course."

        A genuine smile came to Bela's face. She turned and looked after the running dogs, who had become black dots in the distance. "Go. Find The Relic and bring us his heart."

* * *

  
        Carefully, quietly, Dean slipped out of bed and crept into the living room with his clothes draped over his arm. He could see the small amount of light in the room reflecting off Sam's open eyes. "I'm going now," he whispered to his brother.

        Sam turned over on the air mattress. "I'm only gonna ask you one more time - "

        "No, Sam, I don't want you to come with me." Dean put on his jeans. "This is not a case, it's a simple mission. But keep your phone on vibrate. If I encounter any zombie file clerks between me and the records, I'll call you."

        Sam rolled his eyes. "Ha, ha."

        Dean had been very quiet and very careful on his way out of Paul's building, and then on his drive to the records building. Nothing stood between him and finding out this explosive secret that had been kept from Paul his whole life. He would do nothing to tempt the police on his way - no speeding, no talking on his cell phone (as if he had anyone to call this late at night anyway), and definitely no drinking, not even his favorite large coffee from Starbucks. Nothing to tempt fate on this important night.

        On the way over, Dean fantasized about what Paul would do when he told him what the file said. Would he be angry? No, Dean didn't think so. Dean figured he'd be grateful once he got over the initial shock of this major revelation. Paul would probably hug his neck and give him a kiss once Sam left the room. Then, they would make love. Slow, sweet, and gentle, and Dean planned to savor it.

        He noticed the huge black dog circling the perimeter of the parking lot as soon as he stepped out of the car. Someone must've left their gate open. It didn't seem at all strange to him until he saw the second one. _Huh._ This one sat down on the other end of the parking lot and just stared at him, watching, waiting for something. They were _big_ dogs. Dean didn't know what was up, but it unsettled him, and he decided he'd better hurry.

        When he climbed through the last window on the west side of the building, he made sure to close it behind him.

* * *

  
        Sam cringed when he saw Paul step from his room and glance around the apartment. He pretended to be asleep, although he should have known it would do no good. "Sam? Sam." Paul crouched next to the air mattress and began to shake him.

        Sam acted like he was just waking up. "Oh, hey Paul. What's up?" He threw in a yawn for effect.

        "Sam, where's your brother? I woke up and he was gone."

        "Uh, I dunno. Maybe he's in the bathroom."

        Paul gestured to the open bathroom door. "I don't think so. Besides, he laid some clothes out over my chair, and they're gone now. Do you know where he went?"

        Unable to help it, Sam felt guilty for lying; he knew how much a thing like this had to mean to Paul, but Dean wanted it to be a surprise. "Maybe he went out for a late night snack. You know how restless Dean can be."

        Paul tilted his head, glaring at him. "You're lying."

        "Huh?"

        He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Sam, do I really have to remind you that I'm an empath?"

        Now Sam had to sigh. "Oh, yeah. That's not very nice, just dipping into a guy's emotions without permission."

        "You know I have little control over it." Paul crossly furrowed his brow. "Where did Dean go?"

        Just staring at the ceiling for a moment, Sam decided he might as well tell Paul the truth. "Paul... he went to the county records building to find out who your father is."

        Paul's eyes grew wider and wider as this news sunk in. " _What?_ "

        "Dean knew it was important to you and he wanted it to be a surprise."

        Standing up, Paul paced to the other side of the room and back again, instantly nervous over several possibilities he now had to face. "How could he do something so rash? What if he gets caught? What if...?" _What if I'm not ready to know?_ "God, Sam, your brother is one reckless, brash human being."

        "Don't I know it."

        "Well, I'm just going to have to go over there and stop him. If he gets caught, he'll be in a great deal of trouble."

        "Don't worry about that, Paul. Dean and I are very good at breaking into places like this," Sam assured him.

        "So, he's just going to jimmy open the front door of the damn building?"

        "No. I did some research for him this afternoon - "

        Paul pointed at him, then snapped. "That's what you two had your heads down all day about!"

        Sam continued. " - and I found out that the building is under renovation. There are three windows on the west side that can still be opened. Dean went in through the one on the end."

        "Thanks. If I get there and he's already gone inside, then I know how I can get in after him." Paul headed for his bedroom.

        "Paul, no. You could just draw attention to the two of you. Let Dean finish and he'll come home."

        Stopping long enough to shake his head, Paul disappeared into his bedroom with a short, "No."

        "Paul..."

        "Sam, this is my business," he called from the bedroom. Sam could hear him putting on some clothes. Cryptically, Paul added, "It's _my_ father."

        "You're just going to get in the way." When Paul said nothing, Sam added, "Let me go get him."

        "No," Paul said again.

        Sam didn't think there was anything he could do to keep Paul from going except physical restraint, and he wasn't willing to do that. For a moment, he thought maybe he should insist on coming along, but then remembered what Dean was going there to find out. If Dean had managed to get the name of Paul's father, it was the kind of moment between them that Sam didn't want to be there to spoil. It was a personal moment between a man and his lover. Sam decided he'd just have to call Dean and warn him once Paul left. At least then, he could be ready.

        When Paul walked out into the living room, Sam said, "Just be careful, okay? Don't call the attention of the police."

        Paul held up his cell phone. "You're forgetting, I have a friend who used to be on the force," he said, and quietly opened his front door. "I'm gonna go get your brother and drag him back here."

        As soon as Paul closed the door, Sam began trying to reach Dean. It was a relief to have been reminded about Evie; at least she might be able to cajole her cop friends into dropping any charges if the two men were caught. But Dean still needed a head's up that Paul was coming his way.

* * *

  
        On the way to the records building, Paul's anger began to soften. At first, he wasn't sure how to feel about what Dean was doing for him. This was his father, his private business. What right did Dean have poking around in Paul's confidential files? But the more he thought about it, he realized that having Dean in his private affairs wasn't so bad.

        That was one of the first signs that one was falling in love with someone, wasn't it? When one willingly allowed that person into their private life. When one actually kind of liked having that other person involved in their secret business, sharing their intimate thoughts, helping them deal with the most private things they had to endure.

        Trusting them.

        It was just Dean's methods of obtaining information that made Paul still feel a little cross with him. He could get himself into some real trouble. Paul didn't want Dean getting arrested for trying to help him.

        When he pulled into the parking lot, everything was deathly quiet. The only sounds were the crickets chirping in the grass and the streetlights humming over his head. He thumped the Impala as he passed it on his way to the building. "Damn you, Dean," Paul whispered to himself.

        He stopped on the edge of the parking lot and stared down at some droplets on the ground, fresh drops of dark red liquid, his stomach turning over in dread. Was that blood?

        As he rushed toward the window Sam had told him about, Paul didn't notice the dogs creeping after him.

        The front of the filing cabinet was marred by several scratches. It had been harder for Dean to get it open than he thought it would be. Oh well, nothing he could do about it now, as nothing was going to keep him from getting this information for Paul. But now, as he stared at the papers inside the file, Dean closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh. This wasn't what he expected to find at all. He leaned on the filing cabinet with his eyes closed.

        As he hurried past the big fountain in the lobby, Paul looked up at the mezzanine above him. The records rooms were up there. He was halfway up the stairs when he felt Dean for the first time. Paul had to take a moment to just stand there and breathe, feeling Dean in every fiber of his being, Dean, whole, alive, unharmed. Disappointed. Deeply, mournfully disappointed, but alive. Paul heaved a sigh of relief.

        Putting the file back in the cabinet, Dean closed the drawer and grunted in annoyance when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket for the fifth time. Why did Sam keep calling him? He wasn't going to answer right now. The double doors nearby were open onto the mezzanine and the security lights beyond, lights that stayed on all night, and he now looked from the dark office into the lit area beyond those doors. Dean expected to see someone there without really knowing why. A split second later, he knew why Sam kept calling.

        Paul stepped around the corner into the light. He stared at Dean like a teacher might look at a student who'd been caught playing hooky. "Dean," he snapped, sounding cross. "What are you doing here?"

        Dean took the time to glare back. "I might ask you the same question, mister."

        "Don't try to be playful," Paul said, attempting to keep up the charade that he was actually mad. "You could have been caught, breaking into a government building. What were you thinking?"

        "I was thinking... that this would be a great way for us to get some time alone." Putting on a swagger, Dean approached him, grinning.

        Paul slowly backed up, Dean continuing to come toward him. "Oh, sure. Dean, I know what you came here for. Sam told me."

        Shrugging, Dean backed him into the ornate wrought iron railing. "That's, um... let's not talk about that now. It's a big deal, right?"

        "Right," Paul replied with an emotional swallow.

        "It's better if we talk about it when we get back to your place."

        He just nodded. Dean gripped the rail on either side of Paul's body. It brought them very close together. "Dean, that was a... it was..." He swallowed again. "I can't believe you did this for me."

        "Well... it was something you really wanted to know. It's important to you."

        The vulnerable look in Dean's eyes, that look of... Paul couldn't bring himself to call it love. But it was so pure and warm, it instantly made his heart soar with fondness for the other man. He leaned forward until their lips brushed. "Thank you," Paul whispered.

        Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Dean said back, "Don't thank me yet, okay?" He started to pull away.

        Dean had put a grey hoodie on over his T-shirt and a black leather vest over that. Before he could move away, Paul slipped his hands inside the vest and pulled Dean toward him until their bodies were touching. "It doesn't matter what you did or didn't find out," he said, indicating that he thought Dean might've not been able to gain access to the file. "Just the fact that you did this for me... it was rash, and bold, and all kinds of other ridiculous adjectives I can't think of right now, but you did it because you care about me. I'm touched."

        Dean looked at him with an uneven expression on his face, unsure how to feel at a moment like this. When Paul took hold of his chin and guided him forward into a kiss, at first he wouldn't allow himself to get into it, but after a few seconds, Dean was melting into the show of gratitude and affection, kissing Paul back. His arms slipped around Paul's waist.

        When they broke the kiss, they hovered about each other, brushing their lips together and whispering softly. "I want you to make love to me," Paul said.

        Dean smiled a little. "Where? Right here?"

        "No. We'll go somewhere in your car, and make love before we go home."

        Arousal burned through Dean's crotch; just the sound of such words coming out of Paul's mouth made him hot. His hands ran over Paul's chest. "You've got another one of those sweater vests on. You're all fuzzy. You know I don't like 'em on you. Gotta take that right off."

        "This time, it's a full sweater. It's a little cold outside."

        "Oh. Hm, well, I better take it off anyway."

        "Baby, you can take it all off me," Paul replied with a grin.

        They kissed again, running their hands all over each other. "Well, I guess a full sweater isn't so bad. It's warm and soft." Dean rubbed his hands over Paul's sides and around to his back. "Fuzzy Paul feels real nice."

        Paul closed his eyes and just felt how good it was to have Dean caress him. "What do you want to do to fuzzy Paul?"

        "Get him out of here... lay him down in the back seat of my car... take off his clothes..."

        Paul let out a small moan.

        Dean, leaning against him, rubbed their noses together and gave Paul a fond, sound kiss. "Let's go, okay?"

        "Okay."

        But they didn't leave immediately. Instead, they spent another minute rubbing against each other and kissing, their mutual affection becoming more and more involved. Paul had handfuls of Dean's ass, squeezing, and Dean was rubbing his crotch against Paul's when the noise came from behind him.

        Dean almost didn't hear it. He had gone in to nibble at Paul's neck while rubbing him into a state of arousal, Paul letting out small, needy moans in his ear, when the brief growl sounded in the records room. Both men stopped, hands going still.

        "Did you hear that?" Paul whispered.

        Although he didn't want to do it, Dean let Paul go and looked behind him into the dark room. There didn't appear to be anything there. He stepped a few feet away, listening, allowing his instincts to take over. Although Dean didn't see anything now, he knew they hadn't imagined that noise.

        Leaning against the railing behind him, Paul looked around. They were alone in the building... weren't they?

        His breath stopped in his throat when he spotted the dog on the stairs. A large, threatening dog, frothing at the mouth with bubbles of what looked like blood.

        Before Paul could even utter Dean's name, another dog stepped out of the dark only fifteen feet in front of them. Both dogs began to growl.

        Their eyes glowed green.

        From that, the two men knew they weren't dealing with a normal pack of dogs. Dean slowly reached for the gun tucked into the back of his pants. He hoped the animals wouldn't react to the movement if he just went slow.

        "Dean... there's another one on the stairs," Paul said, trying to speak quietly. He tensed up, ready to run. "Are they spectral dogs?"

        Sometimes, Dean forgot that Paul investigated the paranormal too; he almost asked him how he knew that. "Yeah. Some kind of spectral dog."

        "What are they doing here?"

        "I don't know."

        Paul saw the gun that Dean was reaching for. "You brought a gun?" he asked, a bit surprised. Somehow, he'd missed that in his exploration of Dean's body.

        "Habit," was all Dean said in reply.

        Either way, Paul was very glad for Dean's "habits" at that moment. The gun may just get them out of there alive.

        The dog in front of Dean took two steps forward. Dean took two steps back. "Move real slow toward the other set of stairs," he told Paul.

        Turning that way, Paul gasped. "Dean... there's another one, blocking that way too."

        The third dog looked up at him, growling along with its packmates.

        The gun was their only possible way out. Dean had just gotten his fingers on it when the dog in the records room let out a loud, shrieking cry. The sound made both Dean and Paul cringe.

        The dog then lunged forward.

        Although Dean was closer to the beast, he realized instantly that it was going to pass him up and go for Paul. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul instinctively move to one side, and knew that if he did the same, he'd be right in the dog's path.

        At the last second, Dean did it.

        The shrieking dog leapt toward them. Dean shot it in the chest a split second before it was on him, sinking its teeth through each layer of clothing and into his shoulder. He and the dog both went backward over the railing and plunged into the fountain below.

        It took Paul a few seconds to realize what had just occurred, it happened so fast. When the dog leapt at him, he threw his hands up over his face; there was nothing else to do. But then there had been a loud gunshot, and a dog's howl, and Dean grunting in pain. The railing had shaken violently against Paul's back as the wind of Dean's body flipping over backward whooshed past his head. He turned just in time to see Dean and the dog land in the fountain, splashing up a large wave of water. "DEAN!" he screamed.

        Paul barely had time to see Dean floating in the water before the other dogs were after him. The two from the stairs came toward him, making those same shrieking barks. Letting out a frightened yelp, Paul turned and ran into the records room - there was nowhere else to go. He slammed the double doors shut just seconds before the dogs lunged against them. The doors had metal handles, and when the orange bar that hung there was placed between them, it would hold the doors shut with its plastic arms. Paul had to lean all of his weight against them to keep the dogs from pushing them open while he slid the bar into place, screaming in effort the whole time. Once the bar was secured, he moved away from the doors, hoping it would hold. It did at first, but he could tell by the cracking sounds it made as the dogs strained against it that the bar wouldn't hold forever.

        Paul nervously ran his hands through his hair. After turning on the lights, he looked around the room for a weapon, something he could use to fend off the dogs.

        "Dean... oh my God, Dean..." Was Dean drowning in the fountain at that very moment? Were there more dogs, attacking him? Was he even alive down there? Paul took out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number.

        Sam assumed his brother was finally calling him back. When he saw PAUL CALLAN on his caller ID, he just looked at his phone for a moment, and then answered with a confused, "Paul?"

        "Sam, you gotta come quick!" Paul said, his voice shaking with concern and fear. "Dean and I were attacked by spectral dogs. Dean was bitten and the dogs are trying to get in here!"

        "Spectral dogs? What?!"

        "We don't know where they came from either! Dean shot one and I think it's dead, so you should bring a gun too."

        "Where is Dean now?" Sam asked, throwing back his covers and sliding over to the edge of the mattress.

        Paul tried to calm down enough to tell Sam a short but intelligible version of what had just happened. "The dogs came out of nowhere. One of them bit Dean and knocked him over the railing into the fountain. He was able to shoot it first, and by the time they hit the water, the dog wasn't moving. But I don't know what happened next because I had to lock myself in the records room to keep them from tearing me apart!"

        "Is Dean okay?" Sam stood up and began to gather his clothes. "Was he conscious?"

        "I don't know!" Paul wailed, his voice full of anguish.

        "What kind of gun did Dean have? Just regular bullets?"

        "Yeah. I don't see why he would have brought a special gun to a records building."

        Paul had a point there; it was just one of Dean's regular guns with normal bullets. Good. Sam dug through his bag and pulled out a handgun. "How many dogs?"

        "Besides the one Dean shot, two, but it sounds like there are more out there now."

        "Okay." Several thoughts ran through Sam's mind like a ticker tape, things they always had to consider at times like these. Cops, hospitals, explanations. "Evie was a cop. She still own a gun?"

        "Yes."

        "Oh right, Dean told me. Call her and tell her to meet me there, with her gun. Will she be cool about this? She still has friends on the force?"

        Paul nodded as if Sam could see him, then said into the phone, "Yes, she'll help us."

        "Good, 'cause people in the neighborhood might call the police when they hear gunshots." His phone squeezed between his shoulder and his ear, Sam pulled on his jeans. "I'll get there just as soon as I can. Call Evie." He hung up.

        Once Paul had hung up too, he clutched his phone tightly in his hands for a moment, listening to the dogs shriek outside the doors. Then he dialed Evie's number and prayed she would answer at this hour.

* * *

  
        Dimly aware of what was going on around him, Dean swung his left arm, the one that hadn't been bitten, over the side of the fountain and pulled as much of his body as he could manage up onto the ledge and out of the water. He was lucky that it was a shallow fountain, or he didn't think he would have been able to do that. Already, he was panting and his right shoulder was burning so bad that he couldn't concentrate, couldn't think, couldn't think.

        The dog he had shot floated up next to him. It was dead. At least there was that. Now where was his gun? Dean couldn't move as quickly as he wanted, not quickly at all, and every move made his bitten shoulder scream. But he could hear the other dogs barking and throwing themselves against something that rattled loudly at every pounce; it could be the double doors leading into the records room. Dean hoped Paul was safe on the other side of those doors.

        He had to get up there and shoot them all. Wherever those spectral dogs had come from, they could be killed with regular bullets. But when Dean tried to drag himself out of the fountain, his shoulder gave him such a strong bolt of pain that he passed out; for how long, he couldn't have known.

        Paul watched the plastic bar begin to buckle in toward him and prayed, prayed, prayed. He could see the white teeth of the shrieking dogs through the ever-growing crack between the doors, saw their red spittle flying and dripping all over the floor. A white line across the orange bar threatened to grow wider and split with every pounce of the dogs against the doors. He was about to call Sam back when he heard the first gunshot.

        The sound made Dean jerk and open his eyes to semi-conscious slits. He saw his brother run by and sprint up the stairs, heard a woman's voice yell, "I'll take the other side!" and then her hurried footsteps. Evie? Was that Evie? Dean slipped back down into unconsciousness to the sounds of the dogs barking and Sam and Evie opening fire.

        The dogs stopped jumping against the doors. Paul saw them turning around before the doors slammed closed, blocking his view. There were many gunshots before the barking stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the building.

        "Paul?" Evie called.

        He sighed in relief. Paul yanked the bar out of the way and threw the doors open, going right into Evie's waiting arms. They hugged briefly.

        "I'm glad you're okay," she said.

        The mezzanine was littered with the bodies of dogs, four in all. Paul took only a moment to look at them before he was stepping over their prone forms, headed for the stairs. "Dean!"

        Sam was right next to him on the way down to the first floor.

        Evie stayed up on the mezzanine, surveying the area in case there were more of the dogs.

        Only Dean's head and left arm were up on the ledge; the rest of him was still in the fountain. Sam and Paul knelt next to him. "Dean? He's out cold." They both looked at the black mess floating in the water nearby. "Was that one of the dogs?"

        "Get him to your car! Take him to Paul's!" Evie called over the railing. "You can't take him to a regular hospital; they won't know what to do for him."

        "How do you know that?" Sam yelled back.

        "I called Alva on the way over here!" she replied. "He'll meet you at Paul's apartment."

        "What about you?"

        "One of my friends from the force is going to meet me here. We'll clean up the situation. Just go, now!"

        As Sam and Paul were dragging Dean out of the fountain, Sam called up to her, "The car I came here in isn't exactly mine."

        "Leave it. Take Dean's car back. We'll sort it all out."

        Sam bore most of his brother's weight, but Paul tried to help on their way out of the building. Dean hung there limply in their arms. Just before they ducked out the window, Sam said, "Thank you, Evie!" and they were gone.

        Evie looked down at the dogs. It was just as Alva had said - their bodies were beginning to dissolve into some sort of sludge, like a lumpy mix. She stood watch over them until her friend, and Alva, would arrive.

* * *

  
        Once they'd gotten Dean in the backseat of the Impala, Sam drove it back to Paul's building while Paul drove the car he'd borrowed from Mrs. Bongiovi back too. They each threw one of Dean's arms over their shoulders and carried him up to the apartment.

        Mrs. Bongiovi came into the hall when they reached Paul's door. "Paul, is that you?"

        "Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi," he whispered. It was late; many people in the building were sleeping. "Here are your keys. Thank you."

        "Is your friend okay?"

        They'd wrapped a blanket around Dean's neck so no one would see the blood staining his upper sleeve. "He's been drinking," Sam offered.

        "Uh oh. What a nice friend you are to go get him." She grinned at Sam. "Are you another friend?"

        They hadn't met up until this point. "I'm Dean's brother, Sam," he said, smiling back.

        "Oh, you're both such big boys," Mrs. Bongiovi commented, laughing. She noticed Dean was wet. "Is it raining?"

        Paul shook his head. "No... you know that dancing fountain in front of the Bellmont Hotel?"

        "Yes." She began to chuckle again. "Was he playing in it?"

        Both Paul and Sam nodded, grinning wider. "We'd better get him inside and change his clothes."

        "Okay!" Still laughing, Mrs. Bongiovi turned to go back in her apartment.

        Dean's head came up. Slurring, he said, "Hey, you got any lasagna?"

        She tittered in response. "You boys," Mrs. Bongiovi said, and closed her door, shaking her head in amusement.

        The two men carried Dean inside. On their way to Paul's bedroom, Sam said, "I'm gonna hold him up and you cover the bed with towels or a blanket, okay?"

        "I've got a good fleece blanket that would work," Paul replied. He retrieved it, pulled the covers back, and lined the bed with the blanket.

        "Okay, while I hold him up, you get him undressed." Just to make it seem like he didn't know things he wasn't supposed to know, Sam added, "That won't make you uncomfortable, will it?"

        "No, I'm okay. I've taken care of invalids before." Paul unbuttoned Dean's pants.

        "Mm not'n invalid," Dean mumbled.

        "Just relax, Dean. One of the dogs bit you," Sam explained, in case Dean didn't remember.

        "Was there when it happened, Sammy," he said back, and coughed so hard his entire body shook with the rattles in his chest.

        After a minute, they had Dean stripped down to his wet underwear. They both cringed at the sight of his bitten shoulder. It wasn't just the bloody, torn teethmarks, but the deep redness and the way they weeped with yellow pus. They didn't need Alva there to tell them that the spectral dogs had some sort of poison in their saliva. "Let's get fresh underwear on 'im and get him into bed. He's burning up," Sam said.

        For a brief moment after Paul saw Dean naked, he lamented the loss of their night of passion in the back of Dean's car. That had sounded like a lot of fun. The moment had been lost to those dogs, those damn dogs. Where had they come from?

        Once they had the dry underwear on Dean, they carefully put him into bed and covered him up. Dean felt the fleece blanket under him with his fingers. "Fuzzy Paul," he said, grinning.

        Sam and Paul looked at each other awkwardly. "Uh, maybe you better get a wet rag."

        Paul was grateful for a reason to leave the room.

        On his way back, Paul heard someone knock lightly at his door. He knew it had to be Alva even before he let him in. "Evie told me Mr. Winchester was bitten by a spectral dog," he said.

        Paul looked at the bag in Alva's hand. "Yeah. Come in."

        They both went into the bedroom. "Hi Mr. Keel," Sam said, and took the wet rag.

        "Good evening, Samuel." Alva watched as Sam tried to clean up the wound, and how it made Dean wince. He looked at the red rings forming under Dean's eyes, how he was shaking, and the troubling appearance of the bitemarks. "What did the dogs look like?" he asked Paul.

        Paul described everything about the dogs, down to their glowing green eyes. "They had a strange bark too, like a man screaming."

        "Ahh, it's as I thought. Shrikers," Alva said. "They're a familiar legend from back home. A type of spectral dog from Great Britain." Putting his bag down, he began to pull out several Ziplocs full of herbs. "Make a poultice from this, this, and this. Mix them with petroleum jelly and put the poultice on the wounds. Be careful not to touch the pus directly; if it gets into an open cut, you'll be infected too."

        "The dogs have a poison in their saliva, don't they, Mr. Keel?" Sam asked. "This wound doesn't look good."

        "Yes, they do. Evie and I have gathered what we need from the dog's bodies to make an antidote. It will take some time, though, as the matter needs to be mixed with a base to keep it from dissolving."

        "The dog's dissolve?" Sam and Paul looked at each other. "That's what we saw in the fountain. The sludge."

        "As soon as they're dead, their bodies begin to break down immediately. The full process takes two hours. Even the sludge will be gone. Evie and I have already lost thirty minutes, so I must go now." Alva leaned over Sam, who had pulled a chair up next to the bed. "Be sure to press the poultice down against the wound and try to draw out as much of the pus as you can. He's not going to like it, but it will keep him alive until we can get the antidote made."

        "Peachy," Dean grumbled.

        Alva spoke directly to him now. "Don't give Paul and Samuel any trouble, alright? The poison is raising your body temperature. You may not always know what's going on, but they're here to help you. Try to remember that, and stay in bed."

        "I'll try," Dean said. "Thank you."

        "Alright. I'll call you," he said to Paul, and left the apartment.

        It took Paul and Sam almost twenty minutes to grind the herbs to a powder and prepare the poultice. Alva was right when he said Dean wasn't going to like his treatment. The first time Sam pressed the rag coated in the homemade medication down on his wound, he hissed through his teeth, eyes tightly shut. Dean felt Paul sit on the other side of the bed and take his hand. He couldn't help but squeeze that hand until Paul hissed in pain too. Everyone was glad when it was over.

        Sam tossed the rag into a bucket they'd brought in for this purpose. "I'm glad you had these rubber gloves," he remarked of the yellow gloves for washing dishes, gloves he intended to wear each time he had to apply the poultice. "That rag is soaked with pus."

        "Better on the rag than in Dean." Paul looked at the wound. "It's such a fast-acting infection. When do you think we should do that again?"

        "I'd say... every twenty minutes should be good."

        "Great," complained Dean, and coughed some more. "Is there any lasagna left?"

        Paul felt his forehead. "He is absolutely burning up. Do you think it would be safe to give him some Tylenol?"

        "I really don't know."

        "I better call Keel and find out." Getting up, Paul grabbed his cell phone and left the room.

        Paul had brought in a bunch of rags for the treatments; Sam took one into the bathroom and wet it. When he got back, Dean seemed only semi-conscious, with glassy eyes. Sam dabbed the damp rag over his face to mop up the sweat, then folded it and placed it across Dean's forehead.

        "Am I gonna die?" Dean asked, groggy, half-whispered.

        "No. No, of course not. They're making you an antidote. You'll be fine."

        "In case I die, I think we should tell Sammy the truth about us."

        Furrowing his brow, Sam said, "Dean? What?"

        "It's something he should know if I die. He's my little brother. I don't like having to lie to him."

        Sam realized that Dean was delirious from fever, and didn't realize who he was talking to. Sam and Paul did have almost the same hair color. He got choked up from his brother's words. "You're not going to die."

        "I just love him, is all. I don't know what he'll think if he knows about us. He might leave me," Dean said in a weak little voice. "I'm afraid he'll leave me."

        A heavy lump settled into Sam's throat. "Sam isn't going to leave you," he declared. "He loves you too."

        "You've got to tell him if I die, okay?" Dean said. "Tell him I was bi, but only for certain guys. Tell 'im I was in love with you. Okay? Tell him I loved you, Paul."

        Sam choked back tears. He realized in that moment that they would have this conversation for real at some point, he just didn't know when. Dean did intend to tell him one day. "Okay, I'll tell him, Dean," Sam said, adjusting his covers. The thing that touched him just as much as this realization was the fact that Dean had just admitted that he was in love with Paul Callan. His brother was in love with another man. Dean being in love with anyone was a big deal, but another man... no wonder it was so tough for him to tell Sam the truth.

        Dean relaxed into the pillow. "Okay. You'll tell him. I'm glad." His eyes closed, and he seemed to fall asleep.

        Sam had to get up from the chair and retreat to the bathroom to get control of his emotions. He didn't want to cry in front of Paul.

        When he came out, Paul was off the phone. "It isn't a good idea to give Dean any pills," he reported, "but Keel said we could give him some ginger ale."

        "Ginger ale?"

        "His stomach should tolerate it well, and it'll keep him hydrated."

        "Okay. You don't have any, do you?"

        Paul shook his head.

        Sam wanted an excuse to get some air anyway. "I'll go find an all-night grocery store and get some. I shouldn't be long."

        Nodding again, Paul let him out, then went back to Dean's side.

        Soon, it had been twenty minutes since the last application of the poultice. Paul didn't want to do this. He didn't want to hurt Dean again. But it had to be done. "Dean?" Paul shook him lightly. "We've got to apply the poultice."

        "Oh, no, no, no," Dean nearly whispered, licking his dry lips. "Can I have some water?"

        "Yeah." He poured some water from a plastic pitcher beside the bed into a cup, brought it to Dean's lips, and lifted his head with his other hand. Dean took a little water before lying back again. "There."

        Dean smacked his lips. "Thanks, Sammy."

        "No, he went to get you some ginger ale."

        As Paul smeared the medicinal ointment onto another rag, Dean just stared at him in confusion, unable to focus his eyes on the man's face. "Huh?"

        "I said we're getting you some ginger ale. It will help keep your stomach settled." Paul folded the rag into fourths. "Okay, here we go."

        "No, not again." He was too weak to keep him from doing it. After putting on the gloves, Paul pressed the rag down on Dean's wounds. With a weak cry of pain, Dean grasped Paul's wrist and squeezed it as he drew out as much pus as he could. They both wound up wincing in pain.

        Eventually, Paul threw the rag into the bucket and removed the gloves, glad to be done with that for the time being. "I wish we didn't have to do this," he said to himself.

        "Me too," Dean added.

        "I really don't like having to hurt you."

        "It's okay, you can't help it. I can take it, really." Smacking his lips like he was thirsty again, Dean continued talking. "I gotta tell you something. In case I die, I want you to know something I've been keeping from you."

        Paul shook his head. "You're not going to die, Dean. We can talk about it later."

        "No, I gotta tell you now. Just in case, I gotta tell you."

        "Alright. If it's that important to you, what is it?"

        "I'm bisexual, Sammy," Dean said. "Paul and I are involved."

        Paul looked confused in reaction. "Dean, I'm not - "

        "I'm sorry I didn't tell you a long time ago, but I was afraid you'd be freaked out by it. It's not easy to know your brother likes guys too."

        "Dean..."

        Dean wouldn't let him get a word in. "You're my kid brother and I love you. Please don't leave me. Please understand. I'm in love with him, Sammy. I'm in love with Paul Callan."

        As Paul realized what Dean was saying, he took his hand and held it, stroking the back of it against his cheek. "Oh, Dean..." Would he even remember this conversation later? Paul would say it anyway. The fact that Dean might not even remember made it easier for him to voice how he really felt. "I love you too."

        A bewildered look on his face, Dean yanked his hand back. "Don't be a smartass, Sam. This is important."

        Paul had to chuckle at that. "Dean, it's me."

        Dean stared at him for a long time before speaking again. "Oh, hi Paul. When did you get here?"

        Paul, rolling his eyes, decided it was easier to lie at that moment. "Just now. Sam went to get you some ginger ale."

        "I'd rather have a beer."

        "Sorry, not right now."

        With a frustrated groan, Dean settled back into the pillow. "Goddamn dogs." He looked at Paul again, eyes moving up and down his body. "You're still all fuzzy."

        It was true that Paul still had the sweater on over a collared shirt. "Yeah."

        "I wanna feel how soft you are."

        Indulging him, Paul leaned over where Dean could reach him. Dean weakly raised one hand and caressed Paul's side, running the sweater through his fingers. He chuckled suggestively to himself. "Want yooooou," Dean crooned.

        Paul shook his head with a snicker. "Once we get through this, you can have me."

        "Mmmm." Dean grinned.

        Leaning over further, Paul gave him a little kiss. "I'm going to get you some more water." He didn't like how hot Dean's lips felt. Once he'd left the room, Paul called Keel again to see how much longer it would be before they had the antidote ready.

        Paul almost dropped the full pitcher when he returned to the bedroom, Dean had startled him that badly. He was out of bed and standing in the middle of the room, swaying on his feet, a dangerous look upon his red, overheated face. Dean looked at him and growled. "You're back," he said. At some point, Dean had removed his underwear - he was totally nude.

        Paul had to walk closer to him to put the pitcher on the nightstand; Dean leaned in, trying to kiss him. "Get back in bed," he commanded, putting his hands on Dean's arms.

        Dean stumbled in place. "Gimme a kiss," he said.

        "Not until you get back in bed."

        "Noooooo." Dean took hold of the back of Paul's neck. "Come 'ere."

        To try to placate him, Paul allowed Dean to pull him in for a good, long kiss. "There. Get back in bed."

        "Gimme another one."

        Paul rolled his eyes. "Dean!" He looked down and realized that the other man had a decently-sized erection. "Oh, lord."

        Dean began to chuckle as he held Paul by the waist. "Fuzzy-wuzzy," he cooed. He went in for another kiss.

        Concerned for his health, Paul desperately wanted to find a way to convince Dean to get back into bed, but demands for him to do so didn't seem to be working. He allowed Dean to kiss him again, still trying to placate him. Between kisses, Paul said, "Dean, your skin is extremely hot. Please get back into bed."

        "Only if you get in there with me."

        "Your brother could be back any minute."

        "Don't care." Dean kissed him as he backed him toward the wall.

        "Yes you do."

        Going in to kiss Paul's neck, Dean's breath was hot in his ear. "Damn dogs ruined everything. I wanted to do this to you in the backseat of my car."

        "There's plenty of time for that later." It surprised him, how much strength Dean had at that moment. He still pushed him away. "Back into bed now. Come on."

        Dean suddenly growled, took hold of Paul's wrists, and slammed him back against the wall with his arms pinned up over his head. Paul gasped in surprise. Once Dean had done it, all of his strength left him, and he swayed dangerously on his feet, his grip weakening. He cringed at the pain in his shoulder. Paul watched as he opened and shut his eyes several times.

        "Come on... back into bed," he said gently.

        Dean simply collapsed against him with a grunt.

        Paul helped him back to bed and put the covers over him. "Plenty of time for that later," he repeated.

        Looking up at him with a pitiful look on his face, Dean begged, "Will you touch me? Please? I'm so turned on for you. Please, just a little."

        Paul had to laugh. He turned the covers back a bit. "As long as you stay in bed, I'll touch you." With Dean's sexual appetite, it didn't seem odd at all to be doing this; it was just a part of who Dean was. It was certainly better than him wandering around the room, manhandling Paul until he passed out on the floor.

        Dean grinned and hummed, "Mmmmmmnnnuuuh," his eyes closed.

        Slipping his hand under the covers, Paul reached down and fondled Dean's hardness lovingly, stroking down his balls too. He did it slow, keeping an ear out for the opening of the front door and Sam's return. Dean's eyes did not open. He moaned quietly several times, sometimes licking his lips, until he stopped responding altogether.

        "Dean?" Paul caressed his lover's cock a little more, but it began to grow flaccid in his hand. Dean had fallen asleep again. He took his hand out, fixed the covers around him, and gave him one last kiss before sitting back to watch over Dean. "I love you too," Paul whispered to him. The more he said it, the more comfortable the words became. "God, please don't let him die."

* * *

  
        Evie took a step back when the dark red mixture in the beaker before her started to bubble. "You've had this chemistry set how long?" she asked.

        Letting out a brief chuckle, Alva stirred the concoction with a yellowed wand made of glass. "Over thirty years," he replied, smiling fondly. The mixture in the 250 milileter beaker slowly rose toward the rim. "Don't worry, it hasn't failed me before, it will serve its purpose now." He turned the heat on the bunsen burner up just a touch. "Alright, you'll want your goggles on for this."

        Evie hurriedly put the clear goggles on over her eyes. "If I was smart, I would have just kept them on like you. Who knows when this ancient thing could go off."

        Chuckling again, he responded, "My parents gave me the set for my birthday when I was a child."

        "Bet you never thought you'd be using it to mix up a shriker antidote."

        Alva thought it over. "Actually, I've used the set for stranger chemistry projects."

        "Bathtub gin?" she teased.

        He paused longer than he should have before answering. "Not _quite_."

        "Alva..." Evie shook her head. "I knew there was a teenage miscreant in there somewhere."

        A sly little grin was his only reply on the subject. "Get ready. I'm adding the catalyst."

        "Right. The blue stuff."

        As Alva began to pour the liquid into the beaker, Evie held up the bucket and stiff-bristled brush he'd instructed her to have ready. Maroon tendrils instantly began to rise up out of the glass and over the wide rim as the liquid sizzled and boiled. They were like the tentacles of an octopus, or maybe slithering snakes, with the consistency of a thick marshmallow foam. The snakes grew up and down toward the conference table, which Alva had covered with a rubber mat. The tendrils smoked as the air hit them and cooled them down.

        "Now," he said.

        Evie held the bucket under a grouping of the snakes and touched them with the brush. The tendrils shattered like dry leaves, falling into the bucket. She went around with the hard bristles and destroyed every one of the dark red tentacles, trying to get them before they reached the table. A tendril split into two like a double-headed snake; Evie poked at one and watched its disintegration spread to the other. Eventually, the chemical process calmed back, and they were left with a beaker half-full of black, boiling liquid.

        "Alright, get the funnel and the bottle."

        Evie retrieved a 20-ounce bottle with five ounces of clear liquid already in it. "What is this anyway?"

        "Jagermeister."

        She stared at him in disbelief as he put the funnel in the mouth of the bottle and began to pour the shriker potion into it, filling it up the rest of the way. "You're making the antidote out of Jagermeister?"

        "Alcohol helps complete the chemical process. Besides..." Alva eyed her with a merry grin. "...Mr. Winchester seems like a Jagermeister fan, wouldn't you say?"

        A smile slowly tugged at the corners of Evie's mouth. "Yeah, he does."

        Still grinning, Alva capped the bottle and shook it up vigorously. "It says right there on its bottle, it's for hunters." He winked. "Now, let's wash these beakers out as quickly as we can and be on our way."

        By the time they got to Paul's, Dean was semi-conscious and even more delirious. Both Sam and Paul looked sick with worry, fidgety and pale. "His temperature's way up," Paul said at the door. "And he won't drink any of the ginger ale."

        "It's alright. We've got the antidote." Alva held up the bottle.

        Dean noticed them as they entered the bedroom. His feverish eyes shined like glass. "Evie!" he cried gleefully, and threw back the covers so she could see he was naked. Dean raised his arms in triumph. "It's St. Patrick's Day!"

        "Oh, Dean, good lord!" Sam cried, and leaned over his sick brother to grab the covers.

        Evie cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms. She knew his behavior was due to him being sick, and tried not to react. "St. Patrick's Day?"

        "You were a cop!" When Sam covered him back up, Dean simply tossed the sheet off again. Paul put a hand over his face and shook his head. "Does this bring back any memories? Naked guy on St. Patrick's Day!"

        "Oh, God, does it ever." Evie waited for Sam to cover Dean up again and stuff the edge of the sheet under the mattress for good measure. She leaned over and took hold of Dean's chin. "All you need is a funny little green hat on your head."

        Dean snickered with glee.

        "Do you know what we used to do with St. Patty's Day drunks who ran around in the streets naked? We'd hogtie 'em and throw 'em in the back of the police car."

        Dean pouted. "That's no fun."

        Patting his head, she replied, "It was for us." Then she looked back at Alva. "They're right, he's burning up worse than ever."

        Dean began to sing, "I'm hot-blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three..."

        Evie and Alva both glared at Paul as if to say, _He's **your** friend_. To defend himself, Paul shrugged and said, "The fever's made him delirious."

        "We'll get him fixed up." Alva walked over to the side of the bed and showed Dean the bottle. "Mr. Winchester, now that I've seen you at your worst, I think I'll be comfortable calling you Dean from now on."

        Dean was kicking at the covers, pouting like a little boy. "It's too hot for blankets. Sammy, you tucked 'em in too tight."

        Snapping his fingers in front of Dean's eyes, Alva got his already half-focused attention. "This is for you to drink. It's the antidote. It will save your life."

        Dean grinned at him goofily. "You got pretty-colored eyes."

        "My, but you are far gone, aren't you?" Alva chuckled. "Samuel, help me?"

        "Oh, sure." Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam supported Dean's shoulders, raising him up a little so he could drink. In the background, Paul watched, worried, a hand over his mouth.

        Dean began to smack his lips like he was thirsty. "Gimme." He reached out with his good arm, opening and closing his hand.

        Opening the bottle, Alva brought it to Dean's mouth. "Careful. Don't spill any, our supply is limited."

        Sam propped Dean against him so his hip formed a wedge of support under Dean's hurt shoulder. He watched his brother closely, ready for any protest as Dean took his first few experimental sips.

        The sips quickly turned to gulps. Dean seemed to like the taste, taking several greedy swallows of the potion. "Mm. That Jagermeister?" He tried to take hold of the bottle.

        "No, no," Sam scolded, and put his fingers over Dean's. He did not make Dean let go, but helped Alva keep the bottle steady as Dean drank down half its volume without taking a breath.

        When he did finally take the bottle out of his mouth, Dean sighed, "Ahhhh!" in satisfaction, licking and smacking his lips. "Not bad."

        Paul couldn't help but smile, in amusement and relief. Dean was kind of cute when he was this helpless, like a sick little boy.

        "Evie, bring me one of those rags." Alva waited for her to bring him a clean rag, and then tipped the bottle into it a couple of times to wet it down a bit. "This will sting. Grin and bear it, okay Dean?"

        "'Kay."

        Alva dabbed at his bitten shoulder with the rag, trying to get some of the antidote into his wounds. Dean hissed out between his teeth. "Owie owie owie," he muttered. Sam patted his good shoulder. As an afterthought, Dean offered, "You're a good doctor."

        With a wistful smile, Alva said, "I was pre-med at Cambridge."

        He let Dean have a few more swigs of the potion before taking it away. "Let's wrap the wound with gauze and tape it up well. You should sleep, Dean. You'll feel better in a few hours."

        They all sat on Paul's bed and went to work with the First Aid kit, Evie and Paul handing supplies to Alva and Sam as they bandaged Dean's shoulder. Paul let Dean squeeze his hand while Alva took a few stitches here and there to close any tears in his skin. Dean fell asleep before they could finish the job. He moaned and shifted a little whenever someone brushed his shoulder too hard, but otherwise snored lightly against his brother's side.

        "Lay him down, gently," Alva instructed. "Before mid-afternoon, Dean will need a full change of dressings. We'll reapply the herbal ointment at the same time. I better stay the night."

        "Shouldn't he have antibiotics or something?" Evie suggested.

        "Most definitely. Hmmmm..." Alva suddenly snapped his fingers, remembering an old friend he hadn't seen in a while. "Dr. Creed!"

        "The guy who killed me?" Paul asked.

        Sam stared at him in disbelief.

        "Yes."

        Now Sam looked at Alva in disbelief.

        "He can write prescriptions." Taking out his cell phone, Alva dialed the doctor's number.

        Sam, looking from Paul to Evie, said, "Do I even want to know?"

        "Long story," Evie replied. "Another time."

        Sam just nodded in understanding.

        "Well, I better get back to my friend at the records building." Standing up, she continued, "We came up with a really good story for the police report, but I should still back him up until the whole thing's done."

        "What'd you make up for the police report?"

        Clearing her throat, Evie related the whole made-up story. "Paul and Dean were out getting something at the all-night store when they saw a bunch of vicious dogs chasing a smaller dog around the records building. They stopped to try to save the puppy, but had to seek refuge when the dogs turned on them, and one of the windows in the building was slightly ajar. Unfortunately, this window got stuck and wouldn't close, and the dogs chased them inside. Dean was bitten, Paul barracaded himself in one of the rooms and called me for help. I contacted one of my friends on the force, Officer Burkholter, and we proceeded down to the building where we shot all of the vicious dogs not only to protect innocent civilians, but ourselves. Turns out the dogs were rabid and their bodies had to be removed from the premises immediately and destroyed to protect the health of the public."

        "So I wasn't even there," Sam said, trying to fall in line with her story.

        "No, of course you weren't," Evie agreed. "You are the animal control officer who collected and disposed of the dogs if the sargeant calls you for a follow-up."

        Paul had to snicker.

        An amused grin spread across Sam's face. "It is a good story. We might just get away with it." They smiled at each other for a moment; when Evie turned to go, he added, "Evie? Thank you for helping us smooth all this over. It's always easier when we don't have to deal with the cops directly on stuff like this."

        "I know. Believe me, I know." She sighed. "I'm grateful to have a few friends left on the force who are open-minded. You should have seen Ronnie's face when he saw those dogs dissolving on the floor. I don't even want to think how the sargeant would have reacted."

        Alva came back into the room; he was just finishing up his phone call. "Yes, that will be plenty. We'll see you soon." He was quiet as he listened to the doctor's question, and replied in a perfectly calm voice, "I'm quite sure I don't need you to kill anyone this time. Goodbye."

        Evie looked from Alva to Sam and back again. "Maybe it's time we explain that..."

        "No, wait." Paul stood up. "Keel, do you have any clue where these dogs could have come from? Why did they attack Dean and I?"

        "Well... from what I've heard of shrikers, they are spectral dogs who sometimes appear to people who are about to die. But in those cases, they don't attack anyone. They just act as ghostly warnings, menacing the doomed." Eyeing Paul and then the sleeping man in the bed, Alva added, "When they attack the living, it's usually because they are sent."

        "Sent?"

        "Then someone _sicced_ them on Dean and Paul?" asked Sam.

        "It looks that way."

        "Why?" Paul exclaimed in horror.

        Putting a hand on his shoulder, Alva tried to reassure him. "That's something we'll have to find out."

        "Dean and I do have some enemies..." Sam said as a possible explanation.

        "But the dogs..." Paul swallowed down the lump that constricted his throat. "The dog that bit Dean was going for me. He threw himself in the way. I saw it happen."

        "Paul, we have some enemies of our own, don't we?" Alva reminded him. "We've taken on many paranormal beasts who have the intelligence to pull this off. This is probably someone's revenge on us."

        Paul's eyes burned with protective anger. "I want to know who did this."

        Alva now patted the shoulder under his hand. "We'll do what we can, Paul. I promise."

* * *

  
        A few hours later, Dean woke up in the dark, shivering. He pulled the covers over his shoulders and tucked them under his chin.

        "How are you feeling?" Paul whispered.

        Dean looked over and saw the vague outline of Paul's face in the dim light; he was lying on the other side of the bed, on top of the covers. "Where is everybody?"

        "Sam brought the air mattress in here; he's sleeping at the end of my bed. Keel's out on the couch and Evie's at home. You're going to be okay."

        "I'm cold."

        "You've got the chills. Your fever's way down, though." Paul felt Dean's forehead for good measure. "Just cuddle up under the covers and you'll warm up soon enough."

        Dean knew why Paul couldn't cuddle up with him and help him get warm, but he wished he could do it anyway. "I don't remember much."

        "You were hurt pretty bad. But you're going to recover." Stroking his hair, Paul said, "Go back to sleep, okay?"

        Dean was quiet for a few moments, just thinking. Eventually, he murmured, "You all saved my life."

        "I know."

        For a short time, Dean was quiet again. "Remind me to thank everyone later," he said.

        Paul replied, "Okay."

        He stroked the hair at Dean's temples back while Dean drifted on the edge of sleep. Out of nowhere, Dean suddenly asked, "Why do I have the distinct impression I showed Evie my junk?"

* * *

  
        Despondent, defeated, Bela checked her watch one last time before slumping down to her knees. In the distance, she could see the sun just beginning to rise. "Time's up."

        "The shrikers have failed?" Mr. Friendly asked.

        She sighed. "The shrikers have failed."

        Mr. Friendly looked back at Ruby, who shrugged. "That's very unfortunate," he said. "What do you think happened?"

        "The Winchesters are hunters. They must've figured out how to kill them," Ruby replied.

        "It wasn't such a foolproof plan anyway." With a grin, Friendly added, "We'll just have to come up with something else."

        Bela ran her hand through the ashes on the ground, obliterating the words she'd traced there. As a thought occurred to her, she scrambled to her feet. "Lilith will be told how hard I worked on this spell, won't she? Even though it didn't succeed? It's not my fault it didn't succeed."

        Ruby put a stern, no nonsense expression on her face. "I suppose I could put in a good word for you. Can't promise it will make a difference, though."

        "That's good enough," Bela said gratefully. "Thank you, thank you!" She began to gather up the remaining supplies for the spell.

        "Pfft. What a simp." Taking out her cell phone, Ruby cycled through the stored phone numbers, looking for a particular person. "My boss wasn't very sure about this plan anyway. Spectral dogs can be easily distracted. You tell them to attack and they just piss on your leg..."

        "We're still going to destroy the world, aren't we?" Friendly asked. He sounded like a little boy who might be denied his turn at trick or treating.

        Ruby patted his cheek. "Yes, dearheart. I promise." She looked at her phone again. "My associates are just _full_ of great plans."

        "Tear it down?" He extended a pinky to her.

        Ruby linked her pinky with his and shook on it. "Tear it _all_ down."

* * *

  
        Sam awakened early in the afternoon to the smell of something cooking, something that smelled heavenly. He checked on everyone, finding the others asleep, and nothing in the oven. Must be a neighbor cooking lunch, then.

        After a shower with the door closed to keep things quiet, Sam dried off and got dressed. He checked on Dean again. His forehead felt cool. That was a relief.

        The heavenly smell got closer. Someone knocked at the door. Sam rushed to get it so the noise wouldn't wake anyone up. It was Mrs. Bongiovi, with a foil-covered casserole dish and over mitts over her hands. "Oh, hi!" Sam said in a hushed voice. "You're Paul's neighbor, right?"

        "Yes, Mrs. Bongiovi." She held the casserole up to Sam. "I made you all some lasagna."

        "Oh, that's great! Thanks so much. Everyone will really appreciate it." Taking the dish from her, oven mitts and all, Sam waved it around under his nose and took a long, savoring whiff. "I'll just go put this down and bring you back your hot pads."

        Mrs. Bongiovi couldn't help but smile when he brought back the oven mitts. "Everyone else is still asleep? I could hear someone snoring."

        "Yeah." Sam stepped out into the hall, closing the door to a crack. "Long night."

        "Mmm." Mrs. Bongiovi gave Sam an appraising and sympathetic look. "You're a very good brother, you know. Taking care of your big brother like that."

        Hands in his pockets, Sam shrugged. "He'd do the same for me."

        She nodded, just looking at him for a few seconds, reading his body language. "You know about your brother and Paul, don't you?"

        A bit of hurt crossed Sam's face for a moment. "They told you?"

        "No," the woman said, chuckling and shaking her head. "Some things, you can just tell."

        "Yeah. Yeah, I know they're involved." Sam let out a long sigh. "But they think I don't know."

        Mrs. Bongiovi touched his arm. "It's a hard thing for many people to accept, or even to admit." Smiling, she gave his forearm a squeeze. "One day, he will tell you. Dean won't keep his relationship secret forever."

        Sam smiled back at her. "Yeah. I know."

        She headed back to her apartment, stopping in the open doorway. "You're a good brother," she repeated, and went inside, closing the door behind her.

        Sam reflected on those words a short time, and decided that yeah, he was a good brother. Who else would put up with feverish confessions in which his older brother told him everything, but still wouldn't reveal what he knew?

        Dean would tell him in time. It was okay to let things lie for now.

        When he came back into the apartment, Alva was up and around, his brown hair sticking up at weird angles in a few places. He ambled toward the casserole dish on the table, scratching his side. "Do I smell lasagna?"

* * *

  
        Dean didn't know why Evie had stopped by. Could it actually have been to check on him? As she now sat at Paul's table taking demure bites of her helping of lasagna, Dean avoided looking at her. His face burned with an embarrassed blush.

        Sam grinned like a fool. His brother was sitting up at the table with a blanket wrapped around his body, when he could have been lying on a slab in a body bag instead. Sure, Dean's eyes were underlined with red, puffy half-moons, and he had to eat with his left arm because moving the right one hurt too much, but he was far from dying of shriker poison as he had been only twelve hours ago. "Are you gonna finish that?" he asked, pointing to Dean's lasagna.

        "Yes," Dean snapped. He protectively wrapped his forearm around his plate.

        Sam only grinned again.

        It didn't matter how awkward this was. Dean wanted to be a man of honor. Clearing his throat, he began, "I'm a man who says what needs to be said... when it needs to be um, said." Boy, that came out dumb.

        Evie cocked a penciled eyebrow at him.

        He tried to continue. "Keel... Evelyn... er, Evie? You helped save my life. I just wanted to say thank you. So... thanks."

        Shifting uncomfortably in their seats, Alva and Evie glanced at each other. "Oh, of course, you're welcome," Alva replied.

        Evie nodded in agreement. "You would have done it for us."

        With a small, sheepish laugh, Dean added, "And I'm sorry I showed you my junk."

        Paul almost choked on his latest bite of lasagna. He started to cough, prompting Sam to clap him hard on the back.

        Smiling, Evie crossed her legs, looking at him smugly. "Why Dean, are you blushing?"

        He shrugged, embarrassed. "Maybe."

        Evie suddenly stared at him very carefully. "You mentioned St. Patty's Day... were you ever in Boston on that day? Around 1997?"

        His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Um... no. I was only eighteen then." With everyone now staring at him, Dean scoffed and tried to shrug it off. "That's impossible," he said indignantly, his eyes shifting back and forth.

        Eventually, everyone stopped staring and awkwardly returned to their lunch. Everyone except Evie. "I could swear..." She leaned forward and rested her chin on her upraised hand. "When we're done here, could you get down on the floor in a hog-tied position? Just to settle my mind."

        Dean only wished it was possible to disappear into the blanket, while his brother began to snicker.

        "I _like_ her," Sam laughed.

* * *

  
        Within days, Alva and Evie found themselves busier than they thought they'd be, picking through resumes that had been sent in answer to their ad for the receptionist. Alva looked up from their printouts, eyeing Paul across the room.

        Paul sat at the conference table with Dean. Dean's right arm was still in a sling, his wrist also wrapped in an Ace bandage. "It looks like you're healing well," Paul remarked. "Sorry we didn't baby that wrist."

        "You already said that three times," Dean growled. "I told you, it's okay. There wasn't any way you could know my wrist was sprained from the fall, and I was too out of it to tell you. Just forget it already."

        "You're lucky you didn't break it."

        "All the more reason to count our blessings."

        It was obvious Sam was bored; he wandered aimlessly past the table, bouncing a tennis ball off the floor and up into the air, catching it. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. They couldn't work with Dean's shoulder and wrist in the condition they were in, and Sam wasn't going to go without him. He had spent the last few days doing a lot of nothing.

        Dean watched the ball bounce a few times before making a suggestion. "Hey Sam, you're all college educated and stuff. Why don't you offer to help Keel and Evie with their search for a good office girl?"

        With a doubtful shrug, Sam replied, "You really think they'll find me qualified for that?"

        "Only one way to find out. Besides, Paul and I still have some stuff to talk about, so we won't be here for an hour or so."

        Sam shrugged again. "Guess it's worth a try." He walked over to Evie's desk, a bit sheepish.

        Paul didn't have to ask Dean what he wanted to discuss, but he did anyway. "We haven't had a moment alone in several days. You want to tell me about my file now, don't you?"

        "I don't think it can keep anymore," Dean said with a nod. "How about we go get lunch for everyone and take some time to have a talk?"

        Now Paul nodded. "Okay."

        His eyes grew wide when Dean offered him the keys to the Impala. "Usually, I can drive just fine with one hand, but with my shoulder being like this, it throws off my balance. I don't want to crash 'er."

        Paul took the keys. "I promise I'll be careful."

        Finding an out of the way spot in the park, Paul put the car under a tree and turned off the car. They both got out, going around to the front and leaning on the hood. It was doubtful that anyone could see them in the shade of the tall willow.

        Dean put his good arm around Paul's shoulders. "I wish I wasn't so badly injured. We could fool around in the backseat."

        "It's alright," Paul said, chuckling. "I don't want to hurt you."

        After another moment of smiling at each other and snuggling, a serious look overcame Dean's face. "Paul, I'm sorry. I know there was a time when you wanted to see that file pretty badly, and the man who came to look at it had it sealed so you couldn't find out his name. I wish I could have found out that name for you. He might've been your father. But..." Dean bit at his lower lip. "I'm sorry, baby. The file was blacked out."

        This wasn't a possibility Paul had even considered. He tensed against Dean's side. "It was unreadable?"

        "Yeah. All I could see was a few things we already know. Your name and birthdate, mother's name, stuff like that. But the name of your father... someone had gone over it and a bunch of other things with a black marker." Dean sighed. "I tried holding the paper up to the light, but I couldn't read a thing."

        "Oh, wow." Paul gently put his arms around Dean's waist, his hands inside Dean's jacket. Dean pulled him close with his good arm and kissed the side of his head. "I hadn't even considered that. I thought you might be telling me the name of my father. I even readied myself for it. But... blacked out. He really doesn't want me to find him."

        "Maybe it's better that way."

        They just held each other in silence for a minute, Paul's head tucked into the crook of Dean's neck. He began lovingly stroking Paul's hair. Eventually, Dean added, "I'm sorry. At least you still have your friends. And me."

        "Dean... what am I to you?"

        Talk about unexpected replies... "You need a label?"

        "I don't know. I just want to know that you're going to be around for a while." Paul looked up at him. "I'm getting really attached to you."

        Even Dean was surprised to hear himself say, "That's okay. 'Cause I'm getting really attached to you." They shared a long, passionate kiss. "You're not worried about the Christian thing anymore?"

        Letting out a little laugh, Paul replied, "I'll always be a Christian. It will always be a concern for me. But... you're worth confession. And penance."

        They kissed again, Paul's hands sliding deeper into Dean's jacket and rubbing his back. Neither man seemed to care if anyone was close enough to spy them under the leaves of the willow tree; they were too lost in each other.

        When they broke the kiss, Dean chuckled to himself. "I pose the same question, smarty. Paul, what am I to you?"

        A brief pause and Paul had an answer for him. "You are my beloved sin," he whispered, and they kissed once more.

        Outside Dean's fever-induced confessions, it was the closest either one of them had come to saying, "I love you."

* * *

  
        Alva and Evie had already spoken to two applicants and were about to interview a third when Alva said, "I like the first girl."

        "She could only type twenty words a minute," Evie reminded him.

        "Then... let's hire the second girl."

        "Alva..."

        "Oh, I'm no good at this." He turned to Sam. "Samuel, what do you think?"

        Finally, they were actively including him. He smiled and said, "I think we should interview a few more before we make even a preliminary decision."

        "Now that makes sense," Evie remarked.

        Another girl came in five minutes later. She was blonde and leggy, with a lovely smile, and a look that was mature beyond her years.

        Mrs. Murtaugh would have said the high school senior looked twenty-five.

        "Thank you for coming in." Alva extended a hand to her. "I'm sorry, we're seeing so many applicants today, I've forgotten your name. You are, ah..." He looked through the resumes to find hers.

        She took his hand and shook it, then offered a fresh copy of her resume so Alva wouldn't have to search for it. Before giving them her name, she flashed a warm, flirtatious smile at Sam, who couldn't help but return it.

        "My name is Robin. Robin Finch."

  
_Beloved Sin_ is (c) 2010 Demented Stuff/The Pleasure of the People  
_Miracles_ is (c) 2003 Spyglass Entertainment and Touchstone Television  
_Supernatural_ is (c) 2005+ Kripke Enterprises, Wonderland,  & Warner Brothers/The CW Television


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